The Days Following
by rent-a-bird
Summary: Stan Marsh comes out and the whole town reacts. Can Stan find an equilibrium in the shifting relationships between him and his classmates, his dad, and his best friend? Randy is ridiculous, Cartman is a ridiculous asshole, and Kyle has his reputation to think of. Style.
1. Cool Beer In Here

**_Day 3: Afternoon_**

* * *

Randy Marsh could feel the eyes of almost everyone in the bar burn into him as he walked in and ordered a beer. He did his best to ignore them, hunching over in the usual way he did when he had something on his mind. Instead, he stared into the dirty mug when it was given to him, ragged wisps of foam clinging to its edges. Was this how his only son was destined to go through life? Curious stares always at his back, the kind that scattered politely every time he turned around? He swallowed, not even remembering that he had lifted his glass to put a big gulp of the beer into his mouth. And sighed quietly.

"Hey, Randy. Heard about your kid."

Randy heard the clunk of Gerald's beer on the counter as the other man slid into the seat beside him. He wasn't sure whether he was grateful for the company and couldn't help the nasty feeling that his friend had come over to gloat. He stole a quick glance, only to be met by a brow knit with concern. Gerald Broflovski had always had that sort of unmanly softness to him–wanting to talk about feelings, wearing his heart on his sleeve. For a brief flash, Randy wished he had been the one to come out instead of his son Stan.

"Yeah," was all he said.

"How do you take news like that?" Gerald prodded as Randy drained the rest of his glass in record time. "I mean, I know everyone's all for acceptance, but it's different when it's your own son, you know?"

Randy tensed, ready to get defensive, but released that tension into a sigh instead.

"I'm proud of Stan, no question. Nothing will ever change that."

"Takes a lot of courage to do what he did," Gerald agreed. "Heck, some guys spend half their lives in the closet."

Randy almost winced. That's not what he had meant.

"I just didn't expect it, you know? Who would have?"

He gave an appreciative nod towards the fact that his drink had been replaced.

"I mean, it doesn't make a lotta sense on paper," he continued, getting a little louder. "Football quarterback, good head on his shoulders... shit, he even had a little girlfriend! What happened with that?"

"I suppose all you can do now is let him know that you love him no matter what," Gerald soothed. Randy slumped a bit in his chair, his fight leaving him.

"Well, obviously. And Sharon's been great. Just great. I still think... maybe he's just confused, you know? Maybe he'll grow out of it."

"Maybe."

"Hey, Marsh, I heard my nephew's a queer now. What gives?"

"He's just confused," Randy shot back, irritated.

"I'll say he is! What'd you do to him?"

Randy whirled around, ready to fight, but Gerald was on his feet faster.

"Now, listen here, Jimbo! It's exactly this kind of small-mindedness that–"

"Gerald, shut the fuck up and let me defend my own gay son, okay?" Randy puffed.

"You think this part's bad," came a wry voice from one of the tables. All three of them stopped to look over at the cause of the interruption.

"'Hey Dad, I'm gay,' ain't nothing compared to what's coming in a few years." Mr. Garrison threw up his hands and waved them around mockingly, voice high. "'Hey Dad, this is my new friend Terrell.'"

He took a long sip of his drink while the others stared. "And we all know what that's code for," he added in a conspiratorial tone. "'Hey Dad, this is the guy who's bending me over every night and stuffing my ass like a Christmas cock stocking. You two wanna make small talk while he eats at the family dinner table?'"

"Fuck you, Garrison, nobody asked you!" Randy finally managed to exclaim, but his face had noticeably blanched. Mr. Garrison chuckled.

"I don't know what you're smirking about, Gerald," Jimbo chirped angrily. "I bet your kid's the reason Stan switched teams in the first place."

"Wh-what?" Gerald stuttered.

"That's true; those two are such pathetic little homos for each other. It's probably only a matter of time before little Stanley and little Kyle are tossin' each other's' salads every other night," Mr. Garrison agreed casually.

"I'd support my son no matter what. And Stan's a good kid," Gerald announced, hiding the shakiness in his voice with a lofty air, "In fact, I'd be _proud _if they were... together,"

Everyone else at the bar groaned, smelling bullshit a mile away.

"What?" he challenged loudly. "I would be!"

"Yeah, yeah," Randy muttered, sinking back down to nurse his beer. He heard Gerald hesitate and sink back down beside him. They eventually both fell back into silence, the air growing thick with their thoughts.


	2. Ground Zero

**_Day 0: Afternoon_**

* * *

"Dude, did you see that? I just eviscerated that guy. The crits in this game are kick-ass!"

Stan and Kyle were at Stan's house, playing video games on a lazy afternoon. The truth was, Kyle hadn't seen his friend outside of school in a while. The last few times they'd made plans, Stan had bailed without much of an explanation. Even Wendy had mentioned that Stan had seemed distant recently. But just when Kyle had decided to ask about it, Stan had appeared at his locker with a casual invite to play some new game at his house. Kyle had assumed that that would be the end of that, but as the afternoon wore on, he realized that Stan had barely spoken since they turned the console on.

He glanced at his friend, noticing that his eyes were glazed over in distraction.

"Stan?"

Stan sighed and put his controller down, the sounds of carnage still echoing from the TV.

"Kyle, you're my best friend, right?"

"Yeah..." Kyle agreed cautiously, the quietness in Stan's voice making him wary.

"And we can tell each other anything?"

Kyle frowned in concern. "Of course, dude."

Stan slowly drew in a breath, wringing his hands a little in his lap and avoiding eye contact.

"What's going on, Stan? You've been acting super weird at school recently. Wendy says she's worried about you."

"I... I think I'm gay."

Neither of them said anything for a long moment, the stunned silence between them made slightly absurd by the music in the video game playing loudly in the background. Stan looked like he was trying to bore a hole into the floor with his eyes.

"Gay as in... happy?" Kyle attempted.

"Gay as in I like guys," Stan replied miserably.

"O-oh," Kyle said. Then, "Who else knows?"

Stan scratched the back of his neck, still avoiding the other boy's eyes. "You're the first person I've told. It's just awkward, you know? I've been putting off telling anyone until I was sure."

Kyle seemed to soften at this, and put a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Stan, you're _my_ best friend. And I'll be here for you no matter what. You know that, right?"

"I mean, this doesn't change anything between us, right? We're cool?" Stan burst out, finally glancing at Kyle with a voice strained in worry.

"Yeah, dude. We're cool."

Kyle offered a weak smile and didn't stop until Stan returned it.

"Thanks, Kyle," he mumbled, trying not to blush.

Kyle's smiled widened and he quickly squeezed his friend's shoulder before releasing it to reclaim his forgotten controller. The boys picked up the rhythm of their game, but the rhythm of their conversation was a little slower to follow.

"So... you're gay."

"I think so."

There was a pause. "Huh."

Stan stole a quick glance at Kyle, frowning in annoyance.

"What?"

"It's just weird, that's all. I've known you for a long time, and you've never seemed... you know." Kyle cleared his throat, trying to be more polite. "How long have you known?"

"Uh, I dunno," Stan offered awkwardly. "I got the idea a while back, and ever since then it started making more and more sense. You know when something just feels right?"

"I guess," Kyle replied dubiously. Stan rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, dude, I'm not asking you to understand, I'm just asking you to be supportive."

"I am! I do!" Kyle sputtered.

The two went back to their game for a few moments.

"Look, Stan, I'm sorry," Kyle said finally. "I don't know what I'm saying. I'm really proud of you."

Stan only grunted a response.

"Kids at school are gonna rip on you so hard."

"Dude, fuck those guys!" Stan laughed.

Kyle grinned, but in the back of his mind he couldn't help but worry. How _would _the kids at school react? Would things blow over quickly, returning to some kind of equilibrium, or would his classmates make life unbearable for eight hours a day until graduation?

They continued playing, chatting intermittently. It was relaxed–Stan and Kyle had been friends for so long that they'd all but perfected the art of the casual hang-out–but the air hadn't completely cleared since Stan's confession.

"Hi, Stanley. Hello, Kyle," Sharon Marsh greeted through armfuls of groceries, briefly bringing the cold air in with her when she entered the house.

"Hi, Mrs. Marsh."

The two of them simultaneously craned their heads to see around her as she passed in front of the TV.

"I'll have dinner ready in half an hour, Stan," she announced on her way to the kitchen.

"Okay, Mom." He cracked his neck. "Stay for dinner?" he offered to Kyle.

The level ended, and Kyle tossed the controller back onto the couch. He leveled his gaze at Stan pointedly.

"No way, dude. Wouldn't you rather just have a nice family dinner?"

"It doesn't have to be like that," Stan complained, but Kyle had already jumped up off the couch.

"You might as well get it out of way."

Stan weighed his options silently.

"My dad's gonna totally freak," he muttered. Kyle gave him a sympathetic look.

"Call me later?" he offered, hand clutching the doorknob.

"Okay," Stan agreed, nerves already creeping into his voice.

"Good luck, dude," Kyle mentioned as he opened the door, only to be met with Randy trundling up the porch steps after his day at work.

"Bye, Mr. Marsh," Kyle said quickly, slipping past him.

"See you later, Kyle," the older man replied, a little amused by this non-greeting. "Hey, son," he directed at Stan, taking off his coat. "What's that you need luck for? Something for class?"

Stan sighed.


	3. We're Saving Our Own Lives

_**Day 1: Morning**_

* * *

The first day had been the worst.

"You guys, I have something to tell you, and I want you all to be cool about it, okay?" Stan began. It was freezing at the bus stop, and he waited until he could see the smoky puffs of breath slow with anticipation–a sign he took that his friends were listening to him.

"I'm gay."

By now he had come to expect this next part. It had happened when he told Kyle, and then later when he told his family: the awkward, stunned pause. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and rolled his eyes inwardly, heart pounding with nervousness despite himself.

"You're what now?" came Kenny's muffled cry of disbelief.

"I'm gay. I like guys," he elaborated, voice hard with the challenge to say anything against it. "I just wanted to, you know. Come out to you guys. Cause you're my friends and stuff."

There was another pause. "You're _what _now?" Kenny repeated.

"Good for you, Stan," Kyle said a little loudly, as if he was a character in a play designed to show everyone else how they should react. "Do what makes you happy."

Stan tried to fight a blush of embarrassment. He suddenly hated that Kyle had aligned himself with him instead of pretending to have heard the news for the first time. Kyle having known beforehand seemed incriminating somehow. Instead he focused on Cartman, whose eyes were twitching in a completely calculating way.

"I'm glad we can all be mature about this," he said in what he hoped was a final-sounding tone.

"I... I have to prepare," Cartman finally burst out, running off in a panic. Stan and Kyle both scowled at him.

"So, are you a pitcher or a catcher?"

"What's that?" Kyle asked Kenny before Stan could respond.

"You know, in gay sex there's the guy fucking the other guy's ass and the guy getting his ass fucked. Which one are you?" Kenny pressed.

Stan's jaw dropped in horror. "What? Neither!" He tried to force some anger into his voice. "None of your business!"

"Dude... weak," Kyle groaned, covering his ears. Stan blushed harder, some part of him sinking at how disgusted his best friend was by the thought of him having sex. Kenny laughed.

"Shut the fuck up, Kenny," Stan shot back, balling his hands into fists.

"I was just kidding, dude, calm down," Kenny mumbled back, still giggling even until the bus pulled up.

"How're you gonna tell everyone else?" Kyle asked him on the ride to school.

"I dunno. Maybe I'll just tell, like, one girl and wait 'til the whole school finds out."

"Nah, dude. You gotta get in front of it. That way you can be on the offensive. At least, that's what my dad always says whenever there's a politician in the middle of some scandal."

Stan considered this advice as Kyle and his other friends joined team back-of-the-bus in a paper ball war.

Even before the bus arrived, it was clear that there was a huge mass of students crowded outside the school. All the band kids were assembled in their uniforms and instruments beside a makeshift stage beneath a huge banner.

"What's going on?" Kenny asked, voice muffled by his jacket and the fact that he had pressed his face to the window to see. Stan frowned, straining to see along with everyone else. But as the bus pulled in, realization slowly hit him.

"Oh no," he groaned, starting to panic. He snatched his book bag and dashed off the bus, vaguely aware of a distant "Shh! Shut up! Here he comes!" as his feet pounded down the aisle.

Stan was soon assaulted by the full magnitude of the scene. The stage was decorated with glitter and feathers. Big block letters reading "WELCOME, STAN" sparkled down at him from the banner, the thick block letters winking a sinister red. As soon as his feet hit pavement, he heard the first chords of a bittersweet song.

"Jesus Christ," he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers when he recognized it.

_ There was a time, when we couldn't quite decide_  
_ Now our school must come together as one_  
_ It's been long disputed_  
_ But it's time to recognize_  
_ That Stan Marsh_  
_ Is the greatest fag of all!_

_We are the world? Really? _he couldn't help but think. Stan could feel a tingling in his limbs, the sweetness of the melody strangely soothing. He could barely register the giggling, the pointing, the whispering, Kenny's amused smirk at his left, a jaw-clenched Kyle at his right. Cartman had really outdone himself this time, having somehow found time to change into a classy sequined suit and tie AND to set up all the electric equipment AND to organize the entire student body before the bus had arrived. And now he was singing, completely charismatic and smiling in that effortlessly charming way that he had.

_He can't go on pretending day by day_  
_ That he doesn't want someone to pound his sweet butt_

He winked at a girl in the front row.

_ He just wants to make out with a big ole hairy dude_  
_ And the truth, you know_  
_ Butt love is all he needs_

For the chorus, kids in their choir robes joined Cartman on the stage. He spotted Bebe Stevens and a few of his other classmates in their robes, making his stomach roil.

_ Stan Marsh is gay_  
_ He is a homo_  
_ He is a kid who wants a big fat cock_  
_ Right in his butthole_

The choir faded into some beautifully harmonized oohs, step-tapping as Cartman took the solo.

_ There's a choice he's making_ _(Ooooh)_  
_ If you believe what Christians say_ _(Ooooh)_  
_ The fact remains that Stanley Marsh_  
_ Is super gay_

Cartman rushed through the lyrics of the bridge so he could fit them all in, sliding on his knees dramatically for the high note.

_ When my friend came out at the bus stop today, I couldn't believe my ears_  
_ But it totally happened you guys, I'm totally totally serious_  
_ If you don't believe me (Ooooh)_  
_ You can ask him for yourself (Ooooh)_  
_ 'Cause he admitted it–he's a pillow-biting fudge-smuggling queeeeeeer!_

Stan felt his blood run cold, terror finally seizing him. Up until that moment, the song could have been a fun prank, but the lyrics had suddenly started to stink of truth. He could feel the chattering of the crowd change almost instantly from lighthearted to suspicious. He stood rooted to the spot, his gaze suddenly catching on a pair of eyes flashing in disbelief. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, his heart sank.

"Wendy," he yelled out, but the cry was lost in the sea of music, and with heart-wrenching sniff, she had disappeared into the crowd. He ran after her, head whipping around in his desperate search, but she was gone.

_Stan Marsh is gay_

"Everybody!" Cartman encouraged happily, leading everyone in a rhythmic clap as the backing music cut out.

_He is a homo_

Stan growled and rolled up one sleeve, marching towards the school.

_He is a kid who wants a big fat cock_

Cartman's spell was finally broken by Mr. Mackey squirming through the crowd and commandeering the microphone.

"All right, that's enough? Mmkay? Everybody get to class?"

"But Mr. Mackey, the finaleee..." he could hear Cartman whine. Most of the kids started to disperse despite him, their whispering blooming into full blown gossip.

Stan pushed his way through the crowd somewhat aggressively, ignoring the yelps of protest on his way to the stage. Some of the choir kids were already obediently tearing down the banner and breaking down the equipment as Cartman continued to argue with their counselor.

"What am I supposed to do with ten pounds of Tijuana fireworks if I can't shoot them off during the song? This is my one chance!"

Stan marched right up to his friend, fists shaking with rage. He tapped him on the shoulder.

"Stan! The man of the hour!" Cartman exclaimed, whirling around with a shit-eating grin and outspread arms.

POW.

Stan felt at least one of his fingers break on the impact and winced, biting his lip against the pain. His whole body was shaking now, but it was worth it to see Cartman scream on the ground. Everyone in the vicinity ooh-ed, some of the boys whooping and hollering.

"_Stanley!_" Mr. Mackey shouted, his face turning red. He glanced at the fat boy on the ground, who was currently pretending to cry in order to watch Stan get in trouble. "Get up, Eric–you're coming with me to explain to the principal just why you thought it was prudent to break into the AV closet today, mmkay?"

"What?" Cartman burst out, his tearful expression instantly vanishing. "But he punched me!"

"Stanley, I'll see you in my office at three p.m. sharp," he ordered before turning back to Cartman.

Stan was vaguely aware of some of the students cheering as Cartman was hauled off stage, and some sort of bell ringing. He was vaguely aware of people trying to talk to him. But the next thing he remembered, it was well into first period and he was still gripping the sink in the boy's bathroom, staring down into it and trying to will his life back to normal. He couldn't stop thinking about how he had seen Wendy's face in the crowd and how he knew he would have to have to confront her soon. His hand hurt a _lot_.

"Stan?" came a small voice from the door. It was only Kyle, but he stifled a jump, instead fumbling with the faucet so he could pretend to wash his hands.

"Hey, dude," he offered, own voice sounding rather pathetic. He cleared his throat, but realized he didn't really have anything to say. He didn't want Kyle here. He didn't even want to be here himself. He wished he had just snuck out of town in the night and cooped himself up in a warm mountain cave somewhere.

"Dude, is your hand okay? Your fingers look really swollen."

He glanced down at them. His middle and index fingers were fat and purpling, but he was sure Cartman's face looked worse. He turned off the water and rubbed at them, trying to hide the fact that his hands were still shaking.

"I'm fine, really," he said. He swore internally in embarrassment when he heard his voice crack slightly. Kyle frowned sympathetically.

Stan must have taken a long blink, because suddenly he felt himself pulled into a tight hug. He opened his mouth to argue, to be angry, to tell Kyle exactly where he could stick his stupid pity–but the mean words dissolved on his tongue, the energy to fight fading in the face of Kyle's fierce comfort. Instead he stared numbly at the floor behind his friend, watching his arms arrange themselves against Kyle's back and feeling the other boy loosen his grip when he started to relax. Stan took a deep breath and closed his eyes, quietly resting his jaw on the back of Kyle's neck.

"I'm fine," he mumbled again, defeated.

Kyle patted his back twice.

"You will be."


	4. Out In Front Of It

_**Day 1: Afternoon**_

* * *

The first day had been the worst.

After the events of that morning, Kyle had quickly learned that no matter how much he wanted to help or how bad he felt for Stan, there was no possible way to run interference on Stan-gate without worsening the situation instead. He had also quickly learned that half the school had lumped him in with all the rumors. Apparently being a gay kid's best friend was more than enough evidence for a conviction in accordance with playground law. So he kept his distance, focusing on himself. It was stressful, and by lunchtime, he had already taken more than he could handle.

"Hey, guys, what's up?"

"Fuck. You," Kyle said plainly, pointing his finger at a smiling Cartman as his fat friend set down his lunch tray and eased into his usual spot. Stan was off sitting at a table alone with Wendy, the two of them hunched towards each other and speaking in low, strained tones.

"Well, hello to you too, Kahl," Cartman said mildly, popping a french fry into his mouth.

"No, Cartman. Too far. You went too far today. Stan's our friend."

"It was so crazy when Stan came out in front of the whole school today, did you guys see that?" Cartman dipped a handful of his fries into some ketchup wetly. "I wasn't gonna bring it up, cause you know, I didn't want to brag? But I'm super psyched you guys all totally loved my tribute. Stan was so brave today. I really wanted to do something that reflected that courage. I think the spirit of the original song really shone through, too, which is what I was going for."

"Nobody 'totally loved it', asshole. You completely humiliated Stan," Kyle shot back angrily, trying not to raise his voice too much as Cartman shoveled more fries into his mouth.

"I have to agree with Kyle, Eric. What you did today was totally not c-c-c... cool," Jimmy interjected, glaring.

"If you were the one in his position, how do you think Stan would treat you?" Kyle challenged.

"I don't know, he'd probably try to make out with me or something," Cartman replied dismissively. Then he raised one eyebrow. "But while we're on the subject, I've also heard a lot of interesting talk about you around the water cooler–things that have, in my mind, confirmed a certain hypothesis I've been forming throughout our long-standing professional relationship. Is there anything you want to say to clear the air?"

"I'm not gay," Kyle said plainly. He already felt like a broken record.

"Stan is," Craig noted flatly.

"Good point, Craig," Cartman added seriously.

"I'm not Stan, and I'm definitely not gay," Kyle explained, voice tight with controlled anger.

"Choose your stance wisely, Kahl. Oprah and Gayle denied it, too, and it nearly destroyed them."

"Real topical, fatass." said Clyde. Cartman scowled at him.

"Oprah and Gayle aren't even gay," Kyle pointed out.

"Yeah, unlike you and Stan," Cartman was quick to retort.

Kenny sniggered.

"So, Kyle," Clyde interrupted, lowering his voice. "What's he like? You know... between the sheets?"

"Don't know," Kyle said curtly, but everyone could tell they were getting to him.

"Yeah, Kahl, is he a gentle lover, or does he know how to be rough when you need it?"

The boys chuckled at Cartman. Kenny piped in, muffling something high pitched and utterly filthy. They laughed harder. Kyle slammed his hands down on the table.

"I'M NOT. FUCKING. STAN!" he screamed, only to realize in the seconds following that everyone in the cafeteria was staring at him–including Stan. He blushed furiously, sinking down into his seat. Eric Cartman took a smug bite of his burger and chewed.

"Jesus, Kahl, no need to get so defensive."

* * *

Kyle slammed the front door on his way in.

"Welcome back, bubbe, how was school?"

Kyle dragged his backpack on the ground behind him, head down and seething.

"Kyle?" his mother ventured with a frown as he passed her on the couch. When he spoke, he couldn't disguise the bitter sarcasm in his voice.

"Hey, Ma–if your best friend is gay, does that mean you are too? I was just wondering, cause according to _all the kids at school_, it totally does."

Kyle all but glared at his mother pointedly in anticipation of her response. Her frown deepened, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"What's this about, Kyle?"

"Stan's gay," he mumbled, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Stan's what now?"

Kyle sighed when he heard his father's surprised voice from the kitchen. Mr. Broflovski stepped into the living room curiously.

"Gay," Kyle repeated flatly. Sheila looked appropriately shocked, then bustled into the other room.

"Goodness, I'd better give Sharon a call," she announced worriedly. Kyle rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Forget it."

"Do... do you want to talk about it, Kyle?" he heard his father offer as he stormed up the stairs.

"_No_," he yelled down before closing his door loudly enough for his dad to hear. He threw his backpack down on his chair and paused, listening for footsteps on the stairs. When he heard nothing, he flopped backwards onto his bed with a sigh, staring moodily at the ceiling.

Kyle hated his life, and he hated his best friend, at least a little. Cartman's little stunt had made Stan's new found sexuality the breaking news that the entire school was talking about. For Stan, the worst was over, in a way. Everyone knew, and eventually, they'd all get over it. But Kyle hadn't counted on the whispers and the snickers following _him_ down the hallways–or maybe he just hadn't been selfish enough to consider it. But he knew it would be much easier to ignore the gay kid than the gay kid's friend who screamed "I'M NOT FUCKING STAN!" in the cafeteria.

His phone buzzed, and he swiped his thumb over its screen to unlock it. It was from Stan.

_apparently being forced to talk about your feelings for an hour doesn't get you out of detention for fighting. fml_

Kyle sighed, a twinge of guilt shooting through him. He had forgotten about Stan's awkward meeting with Mr. Mackey after school. But somehow...

He deleted the message with a few taps and set the phone on his nightstand, rolling away from it. Despite almost every rumor, he _wasn't_ Stan's boyfriend. And as such, he didn't need to respond to every fucking text Stan sent him.


	5. School Day, School Day

_**Day 5: Morning**_

* * *

"So? What do you think?"

Stan finished putting his books away in his locker before glancing at the girl posing beside him. He blinked, confused.

"Think of what?"

Bebe didn't seem fazed. She only gave Stan a cheeky look and twirled once.

"This!"

Stan stared at her.

"Well?" she asked, impatience finally creeping into her tone. Stan frowned, getting annoyed himself.

"Well, what?" he snapped.

"Well, what do you think of my outfit?"

Stan clenched his eyes shut, massaging one temple.

"Come on, Stan, it's not that hard of a question. I got a new jacket. Am I pulling it off or what?"

"How should I know, Bebe?!"

She huffed in exasperation. "What's the matter with you?"

"Come on, Bebe, Stan didn't know anything about fashion before and he sure doesn't know anything now."

Wendy barely glanced at Stan as she came to her friend's rescue, pulling her away by the hand.

"I guess not," she exclaimed, throwing Stan a dirty look over one shoulder.

Stan sighed as he watched them walk away. He and Wendy had talked for the entire lunch period the day he came out. While she appreciated the fact that Stan had definitely not meant for her to find out through Cartman, she was understandably hurt and confused about the news. She had told him that she supported him no matter what, but that she needed time to herself to sort some things out. That was the last time they had spoken. He sort of missed knowing he could talk to her.

That fateful day somehow felt like it had happened a lifetime ago, but things had still not completely settled down at school. Stan dealt with the occasional teasing, but what kid wasn't teased about something? What really hurt was his friends' hesitation to hang out with him. Despite their general acceptance of him personally, everyone had seemed to silently agree that anyone caught in Stan's company was under suspicion of being completely and totally gay.

He spotted Kyle, Cartman and Kenny chatting further down the hall and approached them.

"Hey, dudes," he greeted, trying to sound casual.

"Hey, turd-burglar," Cartman replied cheerily. "All right, gentlemen, you know the drill–backs to the walls."

"Shut up, fatass," Kyle shot at him. Then, "Hey, Stan."

"Hey, Stan!" Kenny repeated.

"Did you guys start that stupid dream journal project yet?" he asked.

"No," Kenny and Kyle said simultaneously.

"I'm thinking of just making some stuff up the day before. I mean, how's anyone gonna know?" Kyle added.

"I'm gonna put a bunch of symbolism in mine that makes it seem super beautiful and stuff, but really it'll just be about balls," Cartman declared. Kyle laughed.

"Dude, that's genius! 'Last night I dreamed I was hiking across a pair of hills, eating prunes...'"

Cartman laughed too. "No, no, seriously, you guys."

"Oh, c'mon, they'd figure that out instantly," Stan said, enjoying being a part of the group again.

"They'd believe it if they thought it was Stan's dream," Cartman mentioned, his tone quick and dark.

"Fuck you, dude," Stan retorted, trying for lighthearted. But for some reason the conversation ground to a halt. Cartman was chuckling quietly, but Kyle seemed to be embarrassed, picking at a thread on his sleeve while trying to hide a blush. Stan frowned.

"Anyway, uh... you guys wanna come over later and play Gamesphere?"

"Can't, dude, I'm busy," came Kenny's muffled excuse.

"Oh, man, Stan, you know... I would?" Cartman began, voice dripping with a sickening sweetness. "But I reaaally don't want to get ass-raped, so..."

"Kyle?"

Kyle scratched at the back of his neck, eyes flicking past Stan. Stan turned around and noticed a couple of girls at their lockers, staring and suppressing giggles. Behind them were a few boys talking and sneaking looks their way. He narrowed his eyes at them.

"M-maybe another time, Stan," Kyle mumbled, hurrying away as soon as the bell rang and leaving Stan alone.

A little while later, Stan's phone buzzed during class. It was from Kyle.

_Still wanna hang out? :/_

Stan glared at his phone, quickly tapping out his response.

_not even a little._

To be fair, Kyle had taken his share of abuse during the whole scandal. It gave Stan an ugly feeling in his stomach when he saw Kyle getting picked on because of him. Kyle was smart, athletic, and generally well-liked, but he also proved to be the perfect bully victim: quick to anger and heavily invested emotionally. All Stan could think about when he saw Kyle yelling at some kid–sounding assertive and even mean with his hands clenched tightly into fists, but sniffing imperceptibly afterwards–was the time Kyle had pulled him into a hug in the boys bathroom moments after he had been outed in front of the entire school.

He thought about that moment a lot, actually. Not necessarily in a sexual way. It sounded super gay, but he hadn't felt so... _loved_... in a single moment in a long time, and he definitely hadn't felt that way since. His dad had tried to take him out on a father-son fishing trip over the weekend to somehow scare up some kind of bond between them, but there had been something selfish in the attempt that had been lacking in Kyle's hug.

Now, it seemed Kyle couldn't be farther away. All Stan wanted to do was to sit next to his friend on the bus again, or hang around in his room messing around on his computer, or fry Jennifer Lopez dolls with a magnifying glass together. Instead, he had to stand in the background and watch Kyle get pushed against the lockers. He had to listen to Kyle's distant, furious voice vehemently proclaim how disgusting it was to think about Stan that way. Stan couldn't blame Kyle for not being attracted to him–because, dude–sick–but for some reason he always felt the same rotten, sinking feeling in his gut when he heard Kyle talk about how gross being gay with him would be. Because... it wouldn't actually be _that_ gross, would it?

Stan's heart thrummed in terror as this thought crossed his mind. Was everyone right to stay away from him? Would being gay turn him into a menace among the straight boys at school, forcing him to harbor secret crushes on all the people he once considered his friends? He loved Kyle. What did that mean now? Was the platonic male friendship a relationship that was no longer possible for him to have?

He closed his eyes and thought of Kyle's warm chest against his, the muscles in his arms working against his side and shoulder.

Then he thought of the time in kindergarten when Kyle had peed himself during a fire drill.

Stan opened his eyes and smirked. The platonic male friendship was safe, he decided, as long as he ruled out being attracted to people whom he could accurately picture as a crying, piss-covered five year old.

He turned back to his notebook, refusing to acknowledge another thought on the matter.


	6. Guy Stuff

_**Day 8: Morning**_

* * *

"Dude, it's been over a week. It's not funny anymore."

"It's not a_ joke_, Kahl," Cartman shot back. "It's a matter of time!"

"What can I do to get you to shut up about this?" Kyle snapped. Cartman considered this.

"Three weeks." He held up three solemn fingers. "If you two rump rangers do not totally make out with each other after three weeks, I won't say another word about it."

"And you'll stop making fun of Stan," Kyle challenged, raising his voice enough to start drawing a crowd. "And apologize to him for that stunt you pulled. And apologize to _me_ for being an asshole every day of your life!"

"I swear it," he said, totally serious. Kyle smirked triumphantly.

"But–if you lose... you have to give me... eight thousand dollars."

Kyle raised one skeptical, angry brow at him.

"Fifty bucks," he amended.

"Make it a hundred!" Kyle shouted.

"Kyle, have you ever actually won a bet with Cartman? No matter how favorable the odds?" Craig deadpanned. By now, a large group of curious kids had encircled the two.

"Two hundred bucks," Cartman countered smoothly. "And we knock off a week. If you guys make out in the next two weeks, you pay."

"Perfect!"

The corners of Cartman's smile twitched upwards evilly. "Sweet."

* * *

_**Day 8: Afternoon**_

* * *

Stan finally confronted Kyle after school.

"Look, dude," he said firmly. Kyle looked up from his locker. "You and I both know that you've been avoiding me. I thought we were friends, but you've been acting like a total dick."

Kyle sighed heavily. "I know," he said. Stan stared him down for a moment, waiting for an explanation or an apology, but Kyle gave him none.

"Do you..." began, hesitating under Stan's glare, "do you want to come over and chill at my house?"

Stan narrowed his eyes, but he could tell that Kyle was being sincere.

"I guess s–"

Kyle looked quizzical. "What?"

He turned, following Stan's gaze to see what had stopped him mid-syllable. Taped up to the door of his locker was a picture of an extremely fit and tan bodybuilder with a picture of Stan pasted over his head. For a split second, Kyle looked like he was going to have a seizure, but then he quickly ripped it down. Stan stared, unbelieving.

"Uh..."

"Cartman!" Kyle managed to strangle out in explanation. He composed himself enough to roll his eyes, but couldn't prevent a blush from spreading over his cheeks. "We have a–well, it's not important."

He slammed his locker shut with a nervous chuckle.

"Hey, cock-jockeys."

"Hey, ass-master. You left your picture in my locker," Kyle retorted, shoving the crumpled paper in Cartman's face. Cartman blinked in confusion, the picture of innocence.

"What are you–oh my god!" he exclaimed as he smoothed it out, looking totally scandalized. "This isn't mine!"

"Whatever you're up to, it's super creepy and weird, dude," Stan told Cartman with a disapproving frown. He couldn't help but notice that beneath Kyle's victorious smirk he was still blushing.

"I'll take the fall for you this time, Kahl," Cartman said in a stage whisper as the three boys made their way to the doors. "But I can't guarantee I can keep this up forever."

"Dude, you're not fooling anyone," Kyle told him, sounding irritated.

The picture was bizarre, and to the point, fake, but for some reason it left Stan trying his best to stop imagining a world in which Kyle actually did have a giant crush on him. Luckily for him, as soon as the boys stepped outside (acquiring Kenny along the way), they were faced with a sight that necessitated their entire attention.

"Dad?" Stan asked warily. Stan's dad was leaning against his car in the street, obviously waiting for them. When he spotted Stan, he waved enthusiastically.

"Hey, boys! How're you all doing?" he called cheerfully to Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman, who had hung back as Stan approached. "Come on over here, don't be shy!"

"Dad, what are you doing here?" Stan asked in a tone conspicuously lower than the one his father was using. Randy gave his son a good-natured scoff.

"What, now I need a reason to pick my kid and his friends up from school?"

"Yes," Stan said flatly.

"Hi, Kyle! Boys," Gerald greeted just as cheerily from the passenger seat. Slowly, the group joined Stan. "You fellas going our way?"

"We were going to ride the bus," Kyle mentioned.

"Oh, come on. Get in! Gerald and I have got a real treat lined up for you boys."

The four friends exchanged looks before piling in the back seat. There wasn't a lot of space.

"All buckled in?" Gerald called back at them from the passenger seat.

"Are your dads gonna rape us?" Kenny whispered through his parka.

"I don't know, dude!"

"So, Gerald and I have been taking recently about the importance of spending quality time with your guy friends," Randy began.

"That's right! Randy and I make time for each other, just like we make time for you kids."

Stan wanted to die. It was obvious to him that this little field trip was at least partially his mother's brainchild. She had asked him the other day why she hadn't seen his friends over to visit lately, and he had hesitated before mumbling that he didn't know. Why hadn't he just made up some excuse?

Stan was temporarily lifted out of his mortified haze when he noticed that they were headed towards a part of town he wasn't very familiar with.

"What are we doing?" he asked.

"Guy stuff," came Randy's sly reply, winking into the rear-view mirror. Stan didn't figure out what he meant until they pulled into the strip club.

"_No_."

"Well, here we are!" Gerald announced, ignoring Stan. In the backseat, the only one excited was Kenny.

"Dude! Kick _ass!_"

"Are we actually going in there?" Kyle asked uncomfortably.

If Stan had wanted to die before, he was practically salivating over the idea now.

"Dad, don't you think we're a little young for this kind of place?"

"Plus, Stan is totally gay, so all the titties won't have any effect on him," Cartman added innocently.

"Shut up, fat boy!" Stan shot back.

"Boys, we're trying to show you how guys hang out, okay?" Randy explained. "Male bonding. It's important. Now, we've noticed that ever since Stanny's little 'announcement,' you kids haven't been spending a lot of time with each other. We're gonna show you that no matter how gay you think you are, or how gay your friends are, you can still enjoy an afternoon of kickin' back with your buds. Isn't that right, Gerald?"

Gerald smiled at the boys. "Right."

"But why does it have to be at a strip club?" Stan accused, trying to ignore the fresh wash of embarrassment that he'd felt at his dad's speech.

"Come on, Stan–you're gay, not allergic. Seein' a lady isn't going to kill you," Randy muttered at him as he opened the door.

Stan felt the burning in his cheeks redouble as his other friends piled out of the car, Cartman snickering for a long while at this comment. He finally trudged out, stuffing his hands deep into his jacket pockets as if he could somehow hide his shame there too.

In moments, all six of them were sitting up at the rack, inhaling the stuffy aroma of old jizz and carpet. All of it made Stan instantly sick to his stomach. Since it was the middle of the day, it was the apathetic hostess who later appeared on stage as one of the performers after seating them, dimming the lights just for them. The only other patrons were swaying over their beers in the darker corners.

Stan's eyes were glued to the ground, unable to bear looking at the gyrating woman in front of him. He was almost shaking with embarrassment. His dad had taken him to a strip club. And invited all of his friends to come along, so they could all watch him get forced to look at strippers. At least he was only uncomfortable around the women here–it could be worse. He could be allergic.

Stan winced, not even able to think back on that comment sarcastically without feeling small, twisted and useless inside. His dad had never said anything like that during their fishing trip. Was this how he really felt?

"Isn't this nice, boys? Just hanging out with your guy friends, no funny business? The strip club is the final frontier of manly hang-out spots. Tried and true," Randy exclaimed, pointedly ignoring his son's blatant refusal to maintain eye contact with the talent.

Kenny, at least, was enjoying himself. And Cartman had found a bowl of peanuts on one of the tables and was munching on them intently. Presently, another stripper came out, and the hostess went back to sweeping.

"Would you look at the cans on that one!" Gerald exclaimed. Kenny let out a short wolf-whistle.

"Yeah, those are some grade-A bazongas she's got there," Randy agreed, nodding somberly.

"This is _stupid_," Stan managed to burst out.

"Quit being such a little sissy, Stanley. You're the only one not having any fun. And pay attention!" Randy snapped, suddenly irritated. Stan's head throbbed and he clenched his jaw. He had never felt more enraged, humiliated, and hurt at the same time in his entire life.

He was concentrating hard on rerouting his mental energy from trying not to cry into exploding his own skull when he felt something grip his hand. He looked up questioningly, momentarily startled. Beside him, Kyle stole a furtive glance–but in that moment, his face collapsed into an expression of total commiseration. He gave Stan's hand a long, encouraging squeeze. Stan was dazed for a moment, but quickly remembered to squeeze back.

For some reason, neither of them let go. It was calming to Stan, feeling his friend's warm pulse throb sweetly in alternating beats with his own. He would also be lying if he said that he didn't also find it incredibly satisfying to hold a guy's hand under the table of a strip club that his father had brought him to in a thinly veiled attempt to turn him straight.

"How about that one, Stan?" Randy hollered aside as the music picked up and the girl dancing on stage was joined by another one.

Stan exhaled slowly, his anger leaving him. His dad was just insecure–he thought Stan was confused, and that this was somehow helpful. And maybe he _was_ confused. But he knew he wasn't attracted to these tired-looking strippers.

He gave Kyle's hand one last quick squeeze before letting go. Kyle didn't look at him, but he smiled, and Stan knew that the smile was for him. His stomach did a warm flop, his insides filling with silent gratitude.

"Boys, friendship is a beautiful thing," Gerald began, his voice lower and more serious than Randy's. "Every man needs good friends in his life, because, well, you can count on your friends to see you through anything. Having a good friend is almost like having a girlfriend. Or, partner," he amended for Stan's sake. "Because you love each other just as much."

"Not for me. I hate you guys," Cartman was quick to correct. Kenny rolled his eyes and made a muffled sound that sounded suspiciously like "Whatever, dude."

"Of course, it's a totally different kind of love," he chuckled, but there was a harsh ring of warning in his tone. Stan stiffened. Suddenly, his entire speech had become about something else.

"No," Gerald continued, pretending the moment hadn't happened, "friendship is unmistakable. It's unshakable! And no matter how confusing life gets, nothing is worth losing a friend."

He weighted his words carefully, looking at all of the boys in turn.

"Hear, hear," Randy said loudly, barely breaking the spell of underlying foreboding. He glanced down at them to see how they were reacting to the lesson. Most of the boys looked politely confused or uncomfortable.

"How about I give you boys some dollars and you all can tip the performers?" he asked, trying to inject some fun back into the event.

Stan ground his molars together, fantasizing about the pop of a cyanide tablet between his teeth.

Half an hour later, after they had all "fed the strippers" (as Cartman had so respectfully put it) and watched a few more dances, the boys all clamored into the car to go home. Kenny had to be dragged by Stan and Cartman.

"Now, boys, if any of your mothers ask were you went this afternoon, you can just tell them we all went out for pizza," Randy joked in a campy voice once they were on the road.

"First rule of guy time, don't tell your wife about guy time," Gerald joked back. They both chuckled. Stan and Kyle groaned simultaneously.

"Well, guys, I think I really learned the true meaning of friendship today, did you?" Cartman said sarcastically to his friends in the back seat. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"I am so, _so_ sorry you guys."

"Dude, are you kidding? That was awesome!" Kenny exclaimed, almost bouncing out of his seat in excitement. "I'm probably gonna tell my dad I'm gay next week!"

"It wasn't awesome for Stan, though, he's a donut-punching ass bandit. Seeing titties for five minutes is like a thousand years of torture for him."

"I had no idea my dad went to those kinds of places," Kyle moaned, hitting his head against the door of the car. Cartman raised an eyebrow mildly.

"Well, Kahl, I'd go out and bang strippers too if I had to share a bed with your Jew whore mom every night."

"Shut your goddamn mouth, Cartman!" Kyle yelled back. "I'm surprised we didn't see _your_ mom giving blowjobs for crack out behind the dumpsters!"

"EY! What'd you say about my mom, asshole?!"

"We're at your house," Kyle noted smugly.

After Cartman and Kenny, Kyle and his dad were the last to be dropped off. The four of them watched as the old cars on cinder blocks gradually turned into snowmen on the lawns passing by their windows. None of them spoke.

"You know, boys, I meant what I said about friendship," Gerald finally said as they pulled onto Kyle's street. "It's important. Don't let it go... sour... over something as silly as sexual identity. Kyle, Stan might be the best man at your wedding someday."

The car came to a stop in Kyle's driveway.

"I know," Kyle sighed, looking down at the floor. His dad turned around in his seat to look at them for a long moment before resuming his cheerful facade.

"Well, Randy, thanks a lot. I think guy time was a success!"

Randy didn't seem as enthusiastic, but he forced a smile. "You know, I think so too! Same time this Thursday for you and me?"

"You know it!" Gerald replied as he climbed out of the car. Stan was careful to avoid Kyle's gaze until he felt eyes on him from outside.

"See you later, Stan," he said. Then, towards the driver, "Bye, Mr. Marsh."

As they pulled into the street, Stan watched Kyle and his dad walk off, Gerald putting a hand on his son's back as he led them up the driveway. For some reason, Stan kept expecting Kyle to look back.


	7. Kyle Broflovski's Big Gay Sleepover

**_Day 9: Morning_**

* * *

It was Friday. Kyle Broflovski's alarm went off at the normal time, under the normal conditions. The only difference was that when he rolled groggily across the bed to shut off his alarm, he was totally gay!

It had been inevitable. His classmates thought he was gay. His friends thought he was gay. And if he was to understand yesterday's thinly-veiled lesson at the strip club correctly, his own dad thought he was gay. Well, that settled it. He, Kyle Broflovski, had to be gay. Despite it all, he couldn't say he had seen it coming.

In some ways, he resented his friend Stan. Stan was gay too, but he was that way naturally. Kyle, on the other hand, had _caught_ gay from a prolonged retrograde exposure to a gay person–namely, Stan. Before, he hadn't thought that this was at all possible. But if everyone in his genius-factory of a town was to say differently, who was he to argue? He decided that as soon as his growing headache allowed him, he would skip school and search for pink hot pants online. Why fight it?

Instead, he Frankensteined out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. To be fair, his classmates were idiots, he thought to himself as he brushed his teeth. Cartman had only made that stupid bet with him because he thought he could trick Kyle, which made him an idiot, too. And as for his dad, well... he didn't think his dad _actually_ thought that he was gay for Stan. He was just being a stupid worried parent, covering his kid in plastic floaties after watching a story about some other kid drowning on the news. It was enough to make him sick, because Kyle knew that being gay was neither preventable nor something that any compassionate person should care to prevent. Stan's dad had been a total asshole to Stan, belittling him in front of his friends. It was obvious that he was ashamed, and it made Kyle squirm to think how Stan must have felt about it.

When he had finished getting dressed and eating breakfast, he shrugged on his backpack. Stan's life sucked. Ironically, it was the fact that both of their fathers had disgusting secret agendas (stop being gay, don't confuse having a gay best friend with being gay) that really hammered home their ruse of a message: friends are important. Kyle decided that he was completely done with caring about his reputation. Between school and what was obviously an unbearable home life, Stan needed a friend more than anything.

That morning, he finally reclaimed his usual spot next to Stan on the bus. Stan had looked suspicious and a little pissed off.

"Taking my dad's advice about friendship after all?"

"No, dude. This is all pity. Your dad's a dick."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Fuck you, Kyle."

But both of them were hiding smiles.

* * *

**_Day 9: Night_**

* * *

"Kyle, do you want to ask Stan if he'd like to spend the night?"

Stan and Kyle were watching reruns of Terrance and Philip in the living room after dinner at Kyle's house. Stan was working on his dream journal.

"You wanna stay over?" Kyle asked. He could hear his dad's breath hitch slightly from behind his newspaper and scowled.

"Yeah, okay," Stan replied, not really looking up from his notebook.

"Good, I'll give Sharon a call. I'm sure she won't mind," came his mother's voice from the kitchen.

Kyle noticed that his dad had put his newspaper down, eyeing the two boys.

"Come on, Stan, let's go hang out in my room," he offered, shooting his dad a glare. Stan blinked.

"Sure, dude."

They tramped up the stairs and Kyle closed the door behind them.

"Gotta keep this closed in case we have some earth-shattering gay sex," he muttered. Stan blanched.

"What?"

Kyle sighed. "Nothing."

Stan gave him a weird look, but Kyle shrugged it off. He took his usual place on Kyle's bed, with Kyle sitting backwards at his computer chair.

"So, balls?"

Stan's weird look intensified, but Kyle rolled his eyes and looked pointedly at the journal in Stan's grip. Stan grinned.

"Nah, dude. I'm dating these backward and pretending to have dreams about the events of the next day."

"Okay."

"But then I'm gonna start having lots of dreams about the teacher getting eaten alive by rhinos. Or cannibals. I haven't decided what's cooler."

Kyle laughed. "That's pretty messed up."

"Yeah, but it's due on Monday and I haven't done any of it," he complained. Then, "What did you write about?"

Kyle's eyes brightened. "Mine rules, dude. I finished it yesterday."

He flopped onto his bed to reach for his backpack on the other side. Stan flopped over with him and grabbed the notebook out of his friend's hands.

"Yeah? What's...?"

He stopped when his eyes caught the first page. Slowly, his entire face began to turn a bright red.

"Dude!" he cried. "Why would you show this to me?"

Kyle laughed a little, confused. "Because it's awesome?"

Stan's expression was complicated. "Is this supposed to be a joke, Kyle? Cause it's making me really uncomfortable."

Kyle frowned, grabbing his notebook back. "Whatever, Stan, if you wanna be a pussy about–" He paused, noticing that the inside of the notebook had typed pages pasted in. He quickly skimmed the first sentence. "–JESUS CHRIST!"

It was porn. Gay porn. Written in the first person. The love interest, predictably, was named Stan.

Kyle's eyes widened as he flipped through the pages. It was the most explicit, filthy story he'd ever seen. "This–not my–gahh!"

"Calm down, dude."

Kyle frantically ripped at one of the corners of the pasted pages to try to reveal his real journal underneath, but his shaking fingers flubbed it and he accidentally tore off a huge chunk of the page.

"AUGH!"

"I believe you!"

Kyle picked at another page, hands too unsteady to peel it apart. He threw it down, frustrated and completely embarrassed.

"It was Cartman," he explained earnestly as Stan cautiously picked up the journal and examined it carefully. Kyle huffed, trying to let his anger overtake his embarrassment. "He's been pulling this crap all week."

He trailed off in relief as he saw Stan successfully separate one of the pages and peer beneath it.

"Your notebook is pretty ruined," he mentioned, but his voice was strangely disconnected. "You'll probably have to do the assignment over."

Kyle's brow automatically knit in concern.

"I'm really sorry. Honest. I had no idea that that was–"

"Forget about it," Stan said shortly.

"Stan, I..." Kyle bit his lip and looked away. He could tell both of them were feeling rather awkward. So he blurted something that had been left unsaid for a long time. "I'm really sorry for avoiding you. I was being selfish, and I feel terrible about it. I should have stuck by you through all this bullshit."

Stan forced a wry smile. "Because nothing is worth ruining a friendship?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Something like that."

The moment of silence that followed was eventually broken by Stan trying to stifle his laughter. Kyle looked at him questioningly.

"Do you think Cartman actually, like... wrote that story up himself?"

There was a beat as Kyle processed this. But then he felt a grin sneak up on him.

"Dude, he must have."

"He might have found it online or something," Stan offered logically, trying to salvage his straight face.

"Lemmie see that again."

They both lunged for the journal at the same time, laughing and fighting boyishly over it. As it was, the tale (which featured an astronaut from planet hotdick and a space cowboy named Stan–it was never decided whether the story was invented by Cartman or copied and pasted from some dark corner of the internet) was too ridiculous to be sexy, and Stan and Kyle ended up spending the majority of the night reading excerpts aloud to each other in a variety of goofy voices until they were both hiccuping with laughter and wiping away tears.

The only other interruption was Kyle's dad barging in to bring Stan a sleeping bag and to remind them to keep it down because Ike was sleeping.


	8. Simple

"Hey, Kyle! Join the party!" Kenny's muffled voice called out welcomingly when Kyle opened the doors. Of course. The school cafeteria had been converted into a bar slash gambler's den, and it was packed with students. Appropriately, the Cantina song from Star Wars was echoing cheerfully behind the sounds of slot machines dinging, roulette wheels spinning, and rowdy laughter. There were also several strippers, and the boys who weren't playing cards or dice games were seated around tables to watch them. Sitting alone, spinning the dregs of some kind of amber liquor in his glass, was Stan, the only patron at the only table with a male stripper. Without much thought, Kyle made his way through the crowd and slid into the seat beside him.

"You're not allowed to be here, you know. This whole setup is illegal," Stan frowned. He sounded a little drunk, and the words drawled out of him thickly like syrup. Kyle shivered.

"You're here, too."

The man dancing on their table was wearing nothing except for underwear and a space helmet that obscured his face.

"Pretty gay, dude," Kyle noted, leaning back and giving the man a long-once over despite himself. Stan growled.

"Fuck you. Stop looking at him like that."

Kyle shot Stan a defiant glare. "Why? There's nothing else to do at this table. You're drunk."

"You'd better not push me tonight, Kyle," Stan warned, eyes flashing. Suddenly he didn't look so drunk and pathetic. He was sitting up straighter, hands at the ready. Kyle stared right back at him.

"I'll eyefuck your little boyfriend if I want to," he said evenly, something inside him roaring in satisfaction over how furious this made Stan.

"Children, would you all pull the roast out of the oven?" Chef interrupted, approaching them. He was smoking a cigar. "I've got a lot of money on this next game of craps."

Stan pushed his chair away from the table, not taking his eyes off of Kyle for a long time.

"No problem, Chef."

Kyle rose as well, glaring back defiantly at Stan. They walked in silence towards the kitchen as the party blared more and more quietly behind them, their path taking them through a winding series of hallways. Finally, they ended up in Chef's kitchen. It was sort of a sensual place, Kyle noticed, with low, black marble countertops. The only lighting came from the dim but warm glow from the oven. He could still hear the sounds of the faraway casino, but only noticed it when neither of them were talking.

Stan tried to open the oven door to check on the roast, but Kyle found himself slamming it back down.

"What exactly was all that out there?"

Stan narrowed his eyes. "All what?"

Kyle glared at him. "Yelling at me about the stripper. You'd better take that shit down a notch. I'm just trying to be friendly."

"I don't think you want to get into this right now, dude," Stan warned. He attempted to open the oven again, but Kyle slammed the door shut once again.

"Well, we're getting into it. _Dude_."

Stan straightened his lean body winding up to its full height. He only wore a thin white t-shirt under his jacket, which was for some reason open, and it left just the right amount to the imagination. Kyle leaned forward, earning a murmur of surprise and knowing that he was having the same effect on Stan. But Stan didn't back down. He laid one hand on Kyle's hip as brazenly as if it belonged there and pulled him forward.

"It's simple, Kyle. We all know that if you're going to be fucking a guy, it's gonna be me," Stan replied in a low, smooth voice.

They were close, but not touching. Nevertheless, Kyle could feel Stan's breath on him now, could feel his skin on his face and the rise and fall of his chest and the aching pressure of his hips. It was magnetic. Just to be an asshole, Kyle put his hand on Stan's chest as if to stop him, feeling the warmth underneath his shirt.

But at the last second, he seized a handful of that shirt as if electrocuted, pulling Stan towards him and crushing his mouth against his own. They both let out a moan, equal parts relieved and agonized, as they pressed the lengths of their bodies against each other, writhing against any and every area that would yield. Kyle felt Stan's grip tighten around his hips and he ground into him eagerly, lifting him up onto the counter before climbing up on top of him.

His hands explored under Stan's jacket, along his hips and stomach and then back up to his neck, his face, his hair. He dipped down to kiss Stan along his collarbone, eliciting a sweet sigh that almost made him start. He pulled up, looking Stan in the eye. The other boy was panting, eyes clouded and dark, brows knit in a worried plea. Kyle softened. He leaned in slowly this time, lips barely brushing Stan's as he cradled his friend's head. He could hear their heartbeats bursting together against the tinny music.

Suddenly, he felt something squishy under his hand. It was... fat? Kyle pulled back, only to realize that he was now lying on top of Cartman dressed in Stan's clothes. Cartman batted his eyelashes mockingly.

"Pucker up, fag!"

"AAAAA–"

* * *

**_Day 10: Morning_**

* * *

"–AAAAAH!"

Kyle shot straight up with a scream, his hair damp with cold sweat. It was the middle of the night, and he was in his bed, far away from the school cafeteria. It was just a dream. Just a... _just _a dream?

"Nnng," Kyle whimpered pitifully, panic rising in him. He had just had a sexy dream. About Stan. He had dreamed about kissing Stan.

"Listen. Don't freak out. You do a lot of things in dreams that you wouldn't do in real life," he coached himself in an anxious mumble, forcing himself not to think about how this specific dream had made him feel. His eyes darted over to Stan, who was sprawled out inside of his sleeping bag on the floor. They had read a whole lot of gay smut right before bed, Kyle reasoned. He counted to ten as he inhaled, and slowly exhaled. "You're gonna be just fine."

"You're an awful loud sleeper," Stan complained groggily from the floor, startling him. Hearing Stan's voice jolted him right back into the dream he hadn't quite shaken off.

_It's simple, Kyle. We all know that if you're going to be fucking a guy, it's gonna be me._

"Sorry!" Kyle managed to choke out, trying to banish the memory as a wave of nausea and arousal shivered through him. "Nightmares, dude."

Kyle heard Stan rustle from the floor. "Jus' try not to think about it. I'm tired as shit."

Kyle grunted in apology and rolled away from him. He gnawed on his thumbnail, thinking vaguely that this was very good advice.

He wasn't able to fall back asleep for a long time.


	9. Best Friends

_**Day 15: Afternoon**_

* * *

Kyle had tried not to act squirrely. He really, really had. But after that first dirty dream (Despite his furious attempts at exorcism, meditation, and prayer, he had had another one two nights later) he couldn't help but be on edge. Kyle hated it. Right before this added curveball, he and Stan had totally been on the brink of returning to the way things used to be. Now they were back to uncomfortable again, with Kyle leaping four feet in the air every time they accidentally touched or any time Stan's voice startled him.

At least Stan seemed to be getting along better at school.

"Hey, Stan, suck any dicks on your way here?" Craig intoned as Kyle and his friends passed by.

"Just your dad's, Craig," Stan shot back, sounding almost bored. Craig flipped him off. Cartman chuckled.

"I'd rather be a fag than Craig Tucker any day of the god damn week, I'll tell you one thing right now. I hate that kid so much."

"Yeah, fuck that guy," Kenny chimed in.

The bell rang. Technically, they all should have been in gym class five minutes ago.

Over the past few days, Kyle had learned to keep his head down in order to change quickly and in silence, only able to rejoin conversations once Stan was also fully changed. He hadn't minded the boys locker room until those dreams had started. It was embarrassing to be one of those kids–the kind that change in the bathroom and keep their shirts on in pools–but he just couldn't afford to give his subconscious more ammunition. He was terrified that he would suddenly, magically, start liking what he saw.

"Someone told me we're doing line dancing today," Token mentioned.

"What the hell kind of sport is line dancing? They always pull this shit," Cartman griped.

"Yeah. It's pretty gay." Token shot a look at Stan. "Uh, no offense, Stan."

"No, dude, line dancing is the gayest," Stan agreed firmly, slamming his locker shut. "Maybe you heard wrong."

Jimmy shook his head. "No, I heard it too, from Clyde. He said it was super lame. "

Sure enough, the gym was devoid of any balls or equipment. The boys groaned.

"Oh, come on, fellas," Butters encouraged. "I bet it'll be fun. And next time we're at a... Sadie Hawkins dance, or a spring hoedown, maybe we can use it to impress the ladies."

"Sure, Butters. We can just dance in a gay little line like buttfucking fairies until we hear the panties hit the floor," Cartman said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Kyle was standing next to Stan, both of them listening in and laughing when appropriate. He figured he could finagle his way onto the same side of the line as his friend this way. But then the coach made them count off by twos.

He counted the kids in the other line quickly and tried to sneakily adjust himself so they'd be one off. Cartman instantly noticed, switching places himself until it was too late and Kyle was face to face with Stan. Stan waggled his eyebrows at him.

"Heheh, look, guys, Stan got paired up with his boyfriend," Cartman chuckled.

"Shut up, Cartman," Kyle snapped before Stan could say anything. He must have said it a little too angrily, because all the boys ooh-ed, laughing.

"Nothin' like a round of line dancing followed by a hot n' heavy make-out sesh," he continued, using the voice he used when he knew he had an audience.

Kyle only grit his teeth.

"Bow to your partners," the coach told them.

"_Life_ partners!" Cartman corrected. "Amiright?"

Everyone giggled. "That's enough," the coach warned.

"You'd better shut your mouth, Cartman. I'm not kidding."

"You too, Broflovski. Can it."

Stan rolled his eyes. He looked... annoyed, actually.

"Just shut up, dude," he told Kyle quietly when they do-si-doed around each other. His low voice at Kyle's ear made the Jewish boy jerk.

"Yeah, I... can't do this," Kyle muttered, breaking from the line and stalking off towards the locker rooms. He was followed by some surprised whoops and jeers.

"Broflovski, if you don't stop being immature and rejoin your line this instant, you might as well go straight to the principal's office," their coach shouted.

"Me?" he whirled around, furious. "How am_ I_ the one being–"

He paused. Everyone had stopped dancing to stare at him. Stan looked completely disbelieving. So he swallowed his argument, shot Cartman an evil glare, and stomped off instead.

When he was let out of the principal's office, Stan was waiting for him outside.

"Dude."

"Oh, h-hey, Stan," Kyle replied nervously, trying to act normal. "What's up?"

The halls were empty. For the first time since their sleep-over, they were alone. Stan stared at Kyle, annoyed.

"You realize that as soon as you act like something is a big deal, it becomes a big deal," he explained impatiently. "That's why Cartman was ripping on you."

Kyle froze, looking around.

"Can we talk about this later? Or somewhere else?"

"What's your problem? I thought we were past this."

"I guess we're _not_ past it," Kyle retorted, anger edging his voice.

Stan opened his mouth, and then closed it. His anger seemed to be dissipating in favor of hurt confusion.

"Well, why the hell not?"

Kyle sighed and pulled him into an empty classroom, shutting the door behind him.

"Listen, Stan..." he began, looking down and fiddling with the strings on his coat. But he didn't have anything to say.

"I have no idea what's been going on with you, Kyle," Stan accused. "You've been acting really strange, and it's sort of..." He scratched at the back of his neck, looking hurt. "It makes me feel shitty. Like I did something wrong, only all the time. I just want us to be friends again, you know? I don't know why that's been so hard."

"It's not you, honest," Kyle assured him earnestly. Stan frowned.

"Then, what is it? Because I don't know about you, but I'm getting real sick of being so awkward all the time."

Kyle sighed, realizing that he had been backed into a corner. He put his hands up in defense, using his best 'don't freak out' voice. "The truth is..." He took a deep breath as if trying to draw courage from the air.

"The truth is, I've had... a couple dreams about you. Like, dirty dreams."

Stan stared at him, completely taken aback. His expression was conflicted. Kyle rushed on, rattled with nerves.

"And, okay, that's not your fault or anything, but now I'm just a little on edge. All right? That's why things have been so weird."

Stan was still looking at him strangely, so Kyle forced out a snort, trying to sound dismissive.

"I know, it's totally stupid. And it's not a big deal–everyone's just got gay on the brain. It's not like I'm in love with you or anything."

As soon as Kyle said that last part, he knew it was too much. He had upset some kind of balance. So he decided to stop rambling in case he did any more damage.

Stan was frowning, seemingly deep in thought. When he spoke again, Kyle had to suppress a shudder at his tone.

"Okay. I was wrong. I'm sorry for making you tell me that. I really didn't need to know."

Kyle looked down, his face reddening. "Sorry, dude."

"No. I mean it." Stan stared until Kyle looked at him again. He sighed and started pacing, completely frustrated. "You _can't_ say that kind of stuff to me. You're my best friend. That's not the kind of shit best friends say to each other."

"I said I was sorry!" Kyle snapped. Stan stopped pacing, his brow knit with worry.

"Listen. This whole thing is new for me too, okay? And I'm scared. I'm really scared that we won't be able to make it go back to normal."

He hesitated. "The truth is, I'd be lying if I said I was zero percent attracted to you. And I know that's extremely messed up, but it's just the way it is. Maybe it'll be that way for just a little while, or maybe that's how it'll be for the rest of my life. But unless you want to actually go out with me, at least one of us has to be secure in this friendship until I can recalibrate my sensors."

Kyle bit his tongue, mulling this over.

"In the meantime, maybe try learning how to take a joke. It's not that hard."

Kyle opened his mouth and then shut it. But before he could say anything, Stan had gone.


	10. Proud of You

_**Day 19: Night**_

* * *

Stan was watching TV with his dad. Or, more accurately, Stan had been in the middle of watching TV when his dad had plopped down on the couch next to him without so much as a hello.

Stan glowered. Lately, he had been in one constant bad mood. Over the past three weeks he had effectively ruined his relationship with three of the most important people in his life: Wendy, Kyle, and his dad. And he wasn't sure how salvageable any of them were. It left him with no one to talk to.

He regretted being so honest with Kyle the other day. Normally when he told Kyle his problems, his friend came at them with a thoughtful, detached precision. But Kyle had already been acting skittish about the whole gay thing, and now all Stan could predict was a lifetime of Kyle pussyfooting around him, terrified of leading him on long after Stan learned to disassociate his friends with sex again. The whole thing was extremely depressing, in Stan's opinion. And now he had the added hurdle of forcing himself not to imagine Kyle shifting around and murmuring in his bed at night, caught in the throes of some delicious nightmare. What was _wrong_ with him?

"Hey, uh, Stan. You wanna put the game on?"

Stan wordlessly changed the channel. His dad cracked open his beer with a soft fizzing sound.

This was the other messed up relationship he had to deal with. Silence had been the norm between he and his dad ever since the strip club debacle. Stan just didn't have the energy to deal with his father anymore. When Stan was home, he kept to himself, usually holing up in his room after dinner to play on his computer.

"So, uh, how was school?"

"Fine."

Randy took a long gulp of his beer. He hadn't looked at Stan yet. Stan stifled an eye roll.

"Teachers treatin' you okay?"

"Yep," Stan replied, but it was really more of a warning. His dad didn't notice.

"Do anything exciting over the weekend?"

"We don't have to do this," Stan informed him curtly.

"Do what?"

"Have a weird conversation."

Randy frowned, sounding a little hurt. "What's weird about it?"

Stan said nothing. He hated that his dad was so naive. It was the reason he was able to get out of trouble every time he screwed up, no matter how badly. People forgave him easily because he 'was just getting carried away' or 'didn't realize.' Stan knew it was just an excuse for not thinking about the way he acted.

"Stan, you can tell me if something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong."

He felt his dad's eyes on him for a long moment before returning to the TV.

"So, I pulled a few strings and got us both tickets to that monster truck rally they're holding in Denver next Wednesday! I thought we could both play hooky and go."

Stan rubbed at one eye with his hand. "I don't think so."

"C'mon," Randy urged playfully, nudging Stan. "Monster trucks? Pit party? There's gonna be that truck-eating robot that's supposed to eat a bunch of school buses and breathe fire. Plus they've got those monster-madness mud girls."

Suddenly, Stan saw the rest of his entire life flash before his eyes.

_He's minding his own business, hanging out with his friends. His dad bursts through the door, brandishing tickets. "Hey, son, that special new theater opened up downtown, you wanna go with? I got us tickets to something called 'La Belle Vagine.' I think it's French!"_

_He's older, at his job, sitting in a conference room with his colleagues. His dad's voice resounds from the speakerphone in the middle of the table. "Hey, son, just wanted to know if you were up for a guy's night out this weekend! Tequila? Go-go dancers? Let me know whatcha think."_

_He's at his own wedding, and his dad is giving the speech. "Hey, but seriously, son. I know this girl, let's call her Susan. Gives fantastic... 'massages.'" He winks. "If you want we can take a little field trip when you come back from the honeymoon.."_

"I said no, dad, Jesus Christ!" he snapped loudly, as if he were answering every one of his dad's imagined questions. Randy seemed taken aback by his force, but he plowed on. "I don't want to go on another stupid father-son-bonding trip with you!"

He crossed his arms, fuming, while his dad sat there gaping like a moron.

"Are you mad at me about the whole stripper thing?" he ventured, almost complaining.

"Am I mad that you thought taking your gay son to a strip club with all of his friends was a good idea?" Stan shot back sarcastically. He hadn't wanted to do this, but for some reason it was spilling out and he didn't know how to stop. "No, that can't be it. How could that have been the worst, most humiliating thing ever?"

Randy frowned, sounding defensive. "I'm just trying to spend more time with you, Stanley. Part of a father's job is to teach his son how to be a man."

Stan couldn't believe his ears. "'How to be a man'?" he echoed incredulously. "So, what, if I want to be a man I have to fish and go to strip clubs? That's what would make you proud of me? Guys who do that are losers!"

Now his dad was raising his voice, too. "Is that what this is about? You don't think I'm proud of you?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Well, tell me this, big shot: why would someone who isn't proud of his son be driving around town in the car parked outside?"

Stan was momentarily confused, but then groaned in disgust when he realized what his dad meant. He jumped off of the couch and stormed out the front door.

Stan knew what he'd see on the car even before he'd finished marching down the driveway. Sure enough, screaming up at him from the bumper of the family car was a tacky rainbow-colored PRIDE sticker. Stan growled in exasperation, ripping at it with his fingers.

"What are you doing?" his dad called from the porch, bewildered. The sticker just wouldn't come off, and Stan was growing frustrated. He managed to tear off a tiny piece.

"This," he exclaimed, brandishing it furiously, "doesn't make you a good father. It makes you a hypocrite. And an asshole!"

He suddenly realized his dad was trying to pull him away from the car, so he pushed him back. "Get _off_ of me," he shouted.

"Stan, knock it–off!" Randy huffed, both of them struggling. "We can settle this inside!"

It was dark and freezing in the Marsh driveway. Stan gave his dad a mighty heave, throwing the man off hard enough to make him stumble.

"Why don't you just admit it!" he yelled, feeling the angry sting of tears at his eyes. "You hate that this is happening. If you could wave a magic wand that would put things back the way it was, you would do it."

Randy stood back, speechless, and in a way Stan was glad.

"I... maybe," his dad finally admitted in a sigh.

Stan was stunned. Wordlessly, he turned back to his work ripping off their stupid bumper sticker so his dad wouldn't see him swallow back his tears. He couldn't handle having no one on his side anymore. It was all too much.

He sniffed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. When he felt a hand on his back, he was too depressed to even shrug it off. He just let its heaviness weigh him down.

"Listen. Stan," Randy began, his voice sounding strained. "It's not that I'm ashamed. I'm just worried for you. I'm worried that life is going to be harder for you now. And... I'm really worried we won't be able to understand each other anymore. Hell, I don't know what you're going through. And you're going to grow up, and one day I'm not going to _get_ you. And then what?"

"Dad," Stan sniffed, his voice small. He was almost pleading. "I'm still your kid."

"C'mere,"

His dad pulled him into a hug, and Stan didn't know if it was because he was tired, or because his life was so messed up, or just because being hugged by his dad made him feel like a little kid again–but whatever the reason, he couldn't stop himself from finally crying.

"Now, now," his dad soothed awkwardly. Stan laughed a little at this, and Randy pulled him back by his shoulders to look at him at arm's length, leaning down to look him straight in the eye.

"You're _always_ gonna be my kid, you got that?"

Stan nodded, wiping at his eyes roughly. His dad looked at him sternly until he felt his son understood, and then straightened.

"You know, Gerald and I don't even go to strip clubs," he mentioned, trying to sound off-handed. Stan sniffed again.

"You don't?" he asked.

"Nah." He chuckled a little. "The one in South Park is kind of a shithole, anyway." He paused. "I, uh... I'm sorry for trying to get you to change."

"It's fine," Stan told him. "I'm sorry for trying to tear up your gay little sticker."

Randy rolled his eyes.

"Let's just go inside."

Stan nodded, feeling warmer already. Randy scratched at the back of his neck as they walked back up the driveway together.

"Now, you're sure you don't want to go see the monster trucks?"

Stan stole a glance at his dad. "You said I could skip school for this, right?"

Randy laughed.

"Do they really have a robot that eats school buses?"

"I think a guy at work said airplanes, too!"

"And it breathes fire?"

"Oh, man, it's so cool. I saw a video on Youtube where it set a car on fire and ate it while it was still in flames."

"Dude, that is totally kick ass."

As Stan and his dad talked excitedly about the monster truck rally, they entered their house again, closing the front door against the cold.


	11. Testing the Waters

_**Day 20: Morning**_

* * *

Kyle slammed his locker shut, eyes half-lidded in boredom. Lately, he and Stan had been back to avoiding each other–or at least, avoiding any alone time or real conversation. And Kyle was starting to feel it. Being around Stan was fun. Hanging around the other kids was pretty fun too, but he was starting to get the feeling that he was just biding his time until Stan came back. When he and Stan did hang out, it was in the context of the group, and their interactions were practiced. It was better this way–at least for a little while, Kyle reasoned. They just needed to find their footing again. Talking about it had helped.

Kyle drew a shaky breath, remembering how exasperated Stan had sounded during his outburst a few days ago. _You_ can't _say that kind of stuff to me_.

He sighed. He knew that mentally turning over moments like that–those rare, forbidden flashes of desire or vulnerability–wasn't going to help him get back to normal with his friend. Back to normal. That's what really mattered, not hovering around some morbid curiosity.

"...Hi, Kyle,"

Kyle jumped. He realized he had been staring at his locker for the past twenty seconds. Then he realized who had just addressed him.

"Hi, Wendy."

Wendy smiled, but it was sad and a little strained. "This might sound odd, but if I ask you about Stan, will you promise not to bring it up to him later?"

Kyle considered this. "I guess so," he relented cautiously.

She took a breath, composing herself. "It's not that complicated. I just want to know if he's doing okay."

"Why don't you just go ask him yourself?" Kyle asked, sounding tired. The last time she had asked him that was when this whole mess had gotten started. Wendy nervously tucked some hair behind her ear.

"I don't know if I'm ready to talk to him yet. He broke my heart a little, you know."

Suddenly, Kyle was on the defensive. "Look, Stan didn't mean to–"

"–I know, I know," she interrupted. "It's not his fault, and he deserves someone who can make him happy. But there's still a part of me that takes it as a rejection."

"He's not rejecting _you_," Kyle pointed out pragmatically, making two walls of a box with his hands. "He's rejecting your entire gender. It's not like you made him gay."

"But what if I did?" Wendy burst out before she could stop herself. She immediately looked ashamed. "No, you're right. Obviously. My heart hasn't caught up to my brain yet, I guess."

Kyle paused, a 'Why are you telling me this?' perched on his tongue. But Wendy's crestfallen expression made him soften.

"Wendy, you're really smart. And pretty. And cool, for a girl." He sighed, explaining himself in a clear, impatient tone. "So you can choose to believe that Stan realized he was gay because you weren't good enough... or you can know he realized it because you were so great he figured if he couldn't feel that spark with you, he definitely wouldn't feel it with any other girl."

Wendy thought about this for a moment, smiling slowly. "Yeah. So maybe I didn't turn him off of girls... I just helped him on his way. Thanks, Kyle. You're pretty smart yourself, you know."

She continued to smile at him. Kyle coughed.

"But I didn't mean to talk about my problems," she quickly added. "How is, um... how is he doing?"

"Fine, I guess," Kyle answered shortly, wanting this conversation to end. Wendy gave him a searching look, but he only shrugged. She sighed, realizing that this was all she was going to get out of him. He could tell she was wishing Stan had some female friends that she could ask instead.

"I hope he's doing well. In a way, I'm actually proud of him. It takes a lot of courage to listen to yourself and consider a strange new possibility instead of running away from it or pretending it doesn't exist."

"Yeah," Kyle agreed, but for some reason, her words bothered him.

"A lot of people refuse to change. They try to hold on to one version of themselves forever. But I think that's like refusing to live. Life isn't stagnant! It's inside every little leap of faith. What Stan did for himself was inspiring."

Wendy had adopted a dreamy, excited sort of expression, gesturing grandly. But she quickly caught herself.

"Anyway, thanks for the advice, Kyle!"

With that, she hurried off, catching up to a small group of girls headed down the hall.

Kyle stared after her for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. For some reason, her dumb little speech about having the courage to consider a change was still nagging at him.

"God... God dammit," he mumbled, hitting his head against his locker.


	12. The Bet

_**Day 22: Morning**_

* * *

"Nah, man. Nah. Batman, no contest. Luke Skywalker is a pussy."

"But Luke Skywalker is a jedi warrior, dude. I'm not saying he'd win for sure, just that he'd put up a good fight."

"Well, you pit two orphans against each other, it's gonna be a bloodbath–no question."

"What about Darth Vader versus the Joker?"

Stan, Cartman, and Kenny were hanging out by Stan's locker, shooting the shit before class. Stan was in a good mood. He had recently patched things up with his dad and things finally seemed like they were close to normal at school. Yesterday, Wendy had even talked to him again, apologizing for giving him the cold shoulder and telling him that she was sincerely happy for him.

The only abnormal thing in his life was the lack of Kyle. Stan couldn't deny how much he missed his best friend. Spending so much time apart made him realize that Stan without Kyle was like peanut butter without jelly. Bonnie without Clyde. Thunder without lightning. In other words, good apart, but amazing together. They complimented each other. Stan decided that if he could get a guy half as cool and fun as Kyle to like him, he'd have it all. Well, half as cool as Kyle without the whole we've-been-friends-since-we-were-babies vibe, he reminded himself obediently.

For now, though, he felt better than he had in a while, and everyone was laughing easily.

"What are you, retarded? Darth Vader can force choke people. What does the Joker do?" Cartman scoffed, breaking Stan away from his thoughts.

"Hey Cartman... today's the big day," Clyde mentioned as he passed by.

"Up yours, Clyde! So anyway, what were we saying? Oh yeah. Kenny is retarded."

Stan frowned. "That's the third kid who's said something like that to you today. What are you planning?"

"Nothing," Cartman said, slightly irritated.

"Hey, guys."

"Hey, Token."

He looked around, disappointed. "Where's Kyle? I figured he'd be with you guys."

"He wasn't at the bus stop," Stan shrugged.

"Whatever. See you guys later. Cartman, you'd better make good on your bet."

Stan narrowed his eyes. "Seriously, what the hell is going on?"

But at that moment, he heard whispering and noticed Kyle approaching. His mouth was set in a firm line, eyes flashing with purpose. Every part of his body was tense.

"Listen up, Jew, the day's not over yet," Cartman started. "You can't collect until..."

He trailed off, astonished, as Kyle walked up to him and began deliberately counting twenty dollar bills into the fat boy's hand.

"...140, 160, 180, 200," he finished with as much dignity as he could muster.

Cartman stared, dumbfounded, at the money in his hand. Then, Kyle turned to Stan, pausing only to square his shoulders.

And kissed him.

Stan's surprised yelp was muffled by his best friend's mouth, his eyes boggling comically. Kyle had placed one hand on his face to steady him, but despite his initial speed, he was surprisingly gentle. Stan's knee-jerk reaction was to struggle, and he grabbed onto Kyle's shoulders to push him away–but the sweet stillness and persistence of the kiss slowly tamed his shock. Stan's eyelids drooped, then fluttered shut, as if he were being hypnotized.

"Mm," was the only response he could offer, finally melting into Kyle's softly parted lips. He could feel Kyle's shoulders tremble and sag in relief when he finally reacted. They stayed like this for several blissful moments, Stan letting himself forget everything except for the way Kyle's thumb twitched against his jaw and the soaring feeling in his stomach.

Kyle pulled back, and when the kiss broke, Stan felt more disoriented than when he'd been kissed in the first place. They were at school, he quickly remembered. Cartman, Kenny, and a few other kids who had noticed were still frozen in place, their jaws on the floor. And Kyle stood before him with shaking hands, cheeks flushed with warmth.

"Uhh..." Stan floundered, sounding like a caveman. Kyle had closed his eyes again, looking like he was weighing his options. Then he inhaled slowly, releasing the heaviest, most defeated sigh Stan had ever heard.

"Would you like to go to Shakey's Pizza with me tonight?" he finally asked flatly–almost grudgingly.

Stan had never been more confused in his entire life. But his heart was feeling like it would burst with every rapid beat. So, he took an educated guess at what he should say.

"Yes?"

"Good. I'll pick you up at eight," he decided firmly. "You're paying."

With one last determined look, he turned and walked away.

Everyone who had seen was still frozen in stunned silence, staring at Stan (or, in Cartman's case, at the money in his hand). But then most of the bystanders took off giggling or calling to their friends to tell them the new gossip.

"Dude," Stan managed. "What the _fuck _just happened?"

"I think you have a date, dude," Kenny informed him, sounding almost equally dazed.

There was a long beat before the spell was broken by any of them.

"I..." Cartman began, a delighted smile slowly spreading across his face. "...am SO RICH, you guys!"

He took a moment to shiver with pleasure, running off to shove his money in the face of any and every kid who happened to be nearby. "HA! HAHAHAHA! OH, MAN, LOOK AT IT! TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS! HAVE ANY OF YOU SEEN SO MUCH MONEY?"

Stan snapped out of his reverie to glare at his friend. "Hold on. How are _you _involved in this, fatass?"

Cartman was all but hyperventilating, fanning himself with his stack of cash.

"Cartman!" Stan yelled, hitting him in the arm.

"Ow! Watch it, gay boy!"

"What the hell is going on?" Stan repeated.

"Oh, nothing," Cartman told him in a mockingly-casual voice, licking one thumb to flip through his money again. "I just so happened to be the winner of the most lucrative bet in all of history."

Stan scrunched up his face in annoyed confusion. "You bet Kyle that he'd... ask me out?"

"Something like that. You're a fag, Kyle's a fag, like I give a crap–you guys are the worst. All I know is I am rich..." He grinned. "And you guys aren't! Oh, man, this is the best day ever."

He waved his money in front of Kenny. "Get a load of this, Kenny, I must be like a king to you now, huh?"

"You're fat like a king," Kenny muffled angrily.

"EY! That's no way to talk to your lord, you poor piece of shit!"

"Fuck you!"

Stan, for his part, couldn't register his friends' bickering anymore. He was thinking about his kiss. He felt his pulse throbbing gently in his bottom lip and touched it wonderingly, flushed with the memory. Then he realized something. That had been his first. His first real one, at least, and certainly the first one that didn't involve vomit. He felt his cheeks warm, a shy smile peeking onto his face in spite of everything.

But then he caught himself, clearing his throat in what he hoped was a gruff and masculine manner.

"C'mon, you guys, we're gonna be late," Stan announced as he started off to class, shoving his hands in his pockets and trying his best to act nonchalant enough to distract from the glow of excitement he knew he couldn't quite hide.


	13. More Beer

_**Day 25: Night**_

* * *

Gerald Broflovski sat calmly at the bar, staring into the beer he'd ordered but hadn't yet touched. He knew that a couple of people were stealing glances at him, wondering why he was being so quiet, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. He couldn't bring himself to feel much of anything. He felt oddly numb.

"Gerald, my main man."

Randy Marsh was all smiles as he hopped onto the stool next to his friend, cheerily motioning for the bartender to send over a beer.

"Hey, Randy," Gerald intoned, a little irritated by his friend's energy. He was suddenly reminded how much time they had been spending together lately. Definitely more than usual.

"So, I guess Stan took Kyle out on a little date the other day."

Gerald finally took a swig of his drink. "I heard."

"Stan said it was real awkward at first, but that he had a good time," Randy continued. "He seems happy."

"Yeah, Kyle too," Gerald admitted. "Real happy."

They sat drinking their drinks for a long moment, Randy patiently waiting for more.

"I told him, I can't say I'm not a little _surprised_," he finally added. Randy hid a knowing smirk into his glass, pleased with himself for correctly predicting the situation. "But in the end I said, Kyle, you're a good kid. You're my son, and I'll love you no matter what. And if you want to go ahead and date your friend, your mother and I are behind you one hundred percent. There's nothing wrong with experimenting."

Gerald inhaled quickly, his speech having winded him.

"So what did you say in the beginning?" Randy asked, trying to sound innocent. Gerald frowned.

"What?"

"Well, you said that you said all that stuff 'in the end,'" Randy pointed out. "What'd you say at first, did you let him have it?"

Gerald opened his mouth, but then closed it again. Randy had obviously already been in his same position, so he decided to tell the truth. "I said, 'If Stan jumped off a bridge, would you jump, too?'" he repeated wearily.

Randy nodded seriously, taking a drink.

"And what'd _he_ say?"

Gerald rolled his eyes, remembering his son's sarcastic response. "'How gay of a bridge?'"

He didn't seem too amused by the memory and took a long swig of his beer. But Randy snorted, and his snort soon became laughter. Gerald glared at him.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he laughed, trying to compose himself. "It's just–"

But he couldn't finish his sentence, overcome with a fresh fit of laughter.

Gerald sulked moodily, waiting until the other man was done.

"It's not funny," he noted.

"Come on, Gerald," Randy urged, clapping his friend on the back. "Lighten up. I don't want to get stuck with a mopey mary for an in-law some day."

"Oh, Jesus," Gerald moaned. "Stuck with you as a co-father-in-law!"

"Is that what that's called?" Randy took another sip of his beer while Gerald considered his options.

"Well, I don't know how long this whole thing will last, but in the meantime, this is what the boys seem to want. Who are we to get in the way of it?"

Randy swallowed. "Mm, and no pregnancy scares for a while."

"Yeah," Gerald mused, his spine straightening again. "And being with your best friend in the whole world–what guy is lucky enough to say he's done that?"

They both mulled this over for a while, each lost in their own thoughts.

"It's still so _weird_," Gerald finally managed to exclaim.

"It's totally weird," Randy agreed flatly, almost talking over him.

The two fathers drank simultaneously, neither saying a word.

This time, thankfully, no one else dared to butt in.

..

..

_**The End**_

* * *

_Hey, guys, I just wanted to thank everyone for reading, with a special thanks to those who reviewed. I took all of your kind words to heart, and appreciated them more than y'all know. I certainly enjoyed writing this story, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it. Till next time!_

_- rent-a-bird_


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